Chapter 10 husband

husband —The Story of Lina St. Clair To this day, I still believe that Ma has the function of foresight.In this regard, Ma always used a Chinese idiom to explain: "The lips are dead and the teeth are cold." If the lips no longer exist, the teeth will of course feel cold.I think that means: the occurrence of one thing often leads to the arrival of another thing. Everything in the world is interdependent and intertwined. But her foresight has never been about earthquake premonitions, or predictions about the rise and fall of stock prices. All she could sense were signs of threats to our family.And she understood why it happened, and she was sad that she couldn't prevent it from happening in the end.

When she was a child living in San Francisco, she looked at our apartment building on a slope that was too steep, and immediately predicted that the fetus she was carrying would fall and die, and it did. When a new store selling bathroom fixtures opened across the street from our house, Mom prophesied that the bank's money would suffer.Sure enough, within a month, a bank employee was arrested for embezzling public funds. When her father just passed away last year, Mom said that she had a premonition long ago, because a pot of ivy that Dad gave her withered, although she never stopped watering it every day.She said that the roots of the pot of ivy had rotted, so watering would not help.Later, the test report sent by the hospital also stated that although the seventy-four-year-old father suffered a heart attack in the end, 90% of the arteries in his body were completely blocked.Dad is not Chinese like mother, he is English-American.Every morning, he devours five slices of bacon and three poached eggs with dripping yolks.

When Mom was going to visit our new house on Woods Road, I remembered her extraordinary special abilities again, and I was very uneasy, wondering what she would see in my place. Harold and I, were lucky to find a home here.It was on a three-way road near the end of Highway No. 9. The reason why there is no sign here is because once the sign is set up, the nearby residents will remove it. They don't want those salesmen and city inspectors to interfere with this place. .Usually, it only takes 40 minutes to drive from here to my mother's place in San Francisco.But this time it took us a full hour to pick up Mom.When the car passed through the crowded traffic and turned two corners with difficulty, Mom reached out and patted Harold's shoulder lightly, and hissed wearily: "Oh, this journey is enough for you."

Harold smiled and slowed the car, but I still noticed that his hands were tense on the steering wheel.I was secretly happy, a little gloating.In the crowded traffic, he seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, either being urged by the horns that were lined up behind him, or almost bumping into the Buick of an old lady in front. I also feel that it is too shameful for me to stand by and watch Harold's embarrassment with cold eyes. But I can't help myself.In the morning, before we came out to pick up my mother, we had just quarreled.He was so penny-pinching, waving his hands and yelling at me, "Of course you should pay for the exterminator. Because Millag is your cat, and of course you caused the fleas. That's the bill." It should be for your sake, clearly!"

None of our friends would believe that we would quarrel over fleas.And they will never think that there is something more mysterious between us than this. Now, Mom is staying with us for a week, because she's doing an all-wiring change at her San Francisco house.So, we have to act like nothing happened. All along the way, Mom kept asking us, over and over, why we had spent so much money building such a barn-like pavilion and such a moss-lined pond.And, on another two acres of open space, redwood trees and poisonous old trees were planted.In fact, she didn't ask questions at all, but said over and over again: "Oh, it's really costly, what a crime!" When we showed her the inside of the house, she kept asking questions, forcing Harold to be alone. He explained vigorously: "Look, the workmanship of this fine wood intarsia floor is all decolorized by hand. Well, this marble pattern wallpaper is also pasted by hand and wiped with a sponge. Therefore, the flowers are so It's worth the money."

She nodded in agreement: "It turns out that it costs so much to remove the color and wipe it with a sponge!" Just walking around our room like this, she has already found out a lot of things wrong: the floor with diagonal stripes made her feel like she was also slipping all the time.And the guest room we arranged for her was like a stable, with sloping ceilings at both ends.She could even see the spider hiding in the corner of the room, the flea darting into the air.Pooh!Pooh!Pooh!It's like hot oil splattering out of a pan, and even though Ma knows we've spent a lot of money furnishing the house, it's still just a stable that's not a stable, a barn that's not a barn shed !

It annoys me, why does she only see our flaws and inadequacies?But when I looked around again, I felt that what she criticized was actually reasonable.This convinced me that she, too, must have sensed something between me and Harold.Because I still remember some of the things she said to me as early as eight years old. Mom once glanced at the bottom of my rice bowl and predicted that I would marry a bad man. "Oh, Lina," she said to me after dinner many years ago, "your future husband will be a pockmark. If you leave rice grains in the bottom of your bowl, he will have pockmarks on his face!"

As Mom put away my rice bowl, she went on to say, "I know there is such a pockmark, and it's rude and annoying!" Immediately I thought of a nasty boy-next-door who had pockmarks all over his face and was literally the size of a grain of rice.He was about twelve years old and his name was Arnold. Every time I came home from school and walked past his house, he would slingshot my leg, and once deliberately crushed my doll with a bicycle, crushing her tiny legs.I don't want this fierce boy to be my husband.Therefore, I snatched the rice bowl from my mother, and with a few chopsticks, I sliced ​​the rice grains at the bottom of the bowl into my mouth.Then I turned my head and gave Mom a smug smile, believing that I would never marry Arnold again.I am going to marry a husband whose face is as smooth as a porcelain bowl in my hand.

But my mother sighed at me, shook her head, and said: "But yesterday, you also had leftover rice grains." Yes, I remembered that there was the day before yesterday, and the day before yesterday... my eight-year-old heart can hardly move. To bear, to accept such an established fact: my future husband is that nasty Arnold.In my imagination, the pockmarks on Arnold's face continued to expand, and finally, his entire face became pitted like a crater on the surface of the moon. This childhood scene should have been beautiful and interesting to recall, but in fact, every time I recall this scene, I always feel a deep sense of guilt.My loathing for Arnold culminated in his death.

Of course, this may be just a coincidence, but I know that at the beginning, I did have the intention to curse him to death.Because, I've been racking my brains on how to avoid that horrible pockmarked husband. On the week Ma told me about Pocky's husband, I saw a rather heart-wrenching movie in Sunday school.I just remember that the teacher turned off the lights, and then said to our full audience of well-fed, overnourished Chinese-American children: "After watching this movie, you will understand why we should pay the Give a tenth of yours to God, why, we have to work for God!"

She said: "I want you to count for yourself, every week, how many pancakes, candies, dates you swallow... Then compare it with what you see in the movie, and then think about what is the real wish in life Yes. Look! How hunger has tortured people in Africa and India..." Then, the projector started to spin up, and the figures of churchgoers who went to Africa and India appeared on the screen.These noble volunteers voluntarily serve these leprosy patients and accompany them day and night.Those patients with festered limbs looked terrible, with scars on their faces and yellow water dripping.If mom also watched this movie, she would have something to say: "Hey, those kids who always like leftovers will just wait to marry these hideous men and women in the future." After the movie ended, I suddenly had a terrible idea. I thought that this is the only way to escape the bad luck of marrying Arnold.So, I started leaving more rice grains in the rice bowl, and later, not only the rice, but also a lot of creamed popcorn, butter sandwiches.I even threw it away once when I bit into a candy bar and saw the lumpy black filling inside. I considered that Arnold would not necessarily suffer from leprosy, and also migrated to Africa and died there.However, in my heart, I also secretly hope that he will be like this... Arnold died five years later.I was thirteen then, lean and anorexic, not because of Arnold, I'd forgotten about it.The reason why I go on a diet is just out of the general psychology of a thirteen-year-old girl.I often threw the lunch bag my mother prepared for me into the trash can at the corner when I walked out of the house.That morning, I was at the breakfast table, waiting for my mother to prepare my lunch bag for me. While dipping bacon and egg yolk into my mouth, my father, who was reading the newspaper, suddenly cried out: "Gee," he read, still dipping the bacon into the egg yolk, "...Arnold Rethman," he said, looking up, "is a boy from our neighborhood in Oakland who died. Complications from measles. It's a pity, he just started studying at Hayward University in California, and he plans to become a podiatrist. "The doctors tried their best, but they couldn't save his life. They said that such cases are usually only seen in minor patients who have measles between the ages of ten and twelve. The patient's mother said that when Arnold was twelve years old, he had Had the measles." Pa went on to read, "This seventeen-year-old boy fell into a coma when he got sick..." "Lina, do you know this boy?" Pa asked me, and I just stood there silent. "It's outrageous," Mom stared at me, "It's outrageous!" I think she probably saw through my thoughts, she must be clear that I caused Arnold's death.I was trembling with fear. That night, I stole half a gallon of herbaceous ice cream from the refrigerator, hid in my room, and forced spoonfuls of it into my mouth.Hours later, I sat on the fire escape outside my bedroom and vomited it all up.I still don't understand why when I swallow food, I feel so scared, but after vomiting, I feel very comfortable. I did kill Arnold.I have always thought that this is by no means whimsical or neurotic.Perhaps, he was indeed destined to be my husband, otherwise, in such a chaotic world, how could such a coincidence happen?Why did Arnold choose me to be shot by his slingshot?Why in the same year did he get measles and in the same year did I start consciously hating him?When my mother said that I want to marry a nasty husband, I would first think of Arnold!Then, I would hate him so much.Is hate the inevitable end of painful love? I finally forced myself to reject these ridiculous speculations, but I still couldn't get rid of this assumption: I got my comeuppance, I didn't marry Arnold, but I married Harold! Harold and I, work for the same construction company.The company was called Livotony Associates, except that Harold Livtoni was the joint owner, and I was just an ordinary employee.We met a few years ago, before he started Livotoni.I was twenty-eight years old and a planning assistant.He was thirty-four, and at the time we were both in the Kelley Davis department of Hendrick, designing restaurants. We started having frequent working lunches, talking about our visions and experiences, and usually paying the bills equally.Usually, though, I only order a tiny bit of salad because I'm used to dieting.We still split the bill until we started going out for dinner on a formal date. In this way, we have always maintained the form of paying bills equally.If there's a slight variation at times, it's that I insist on paying for everything: meals, drinks, and tips, and really, I'm glad I did. After six months of going out to dinner, five months of after-dinner flirtations, and a week of shy and clumsy confessions of love, Harold said to me, "Lina, you are a remarkable woman." Saying this We were lying in bed at the time, on the purple sheets I had bought for him, his old ones were so old and unromantic. He wiped my neck with his nose and said softly, "I don't think I've ever met another woman who is as compatible with me as you are..." I choked when he said "another woman" For a while, it's like the feeling of being cold.From this, I immediately derived dozens, even hundreds of women who admired him, eager to buy him breakfast and cook dinner for him, and willing to smell his breath. He bit my neck lightly, and said in a trembling voice: "...so gentle, sweet, and pleasing like you..." Those tender words filled me obsessively, and this time of love, I was completely plunged into it. At the time, I felt incredible: how an extraordinary person like Harold would think that I was outstanding.Anyway, at that time, I was a little fascinated and full of emotions. Now, though, I don't see anything unusual about Harold anymore, and now I'm angry with him. Although I believe that he is indeed very outstanding, otherwise, I would not have fallen in love with him, and finally agreed to marry him.I still remember how lucky I felt when he proposed to me, and how worried I was that all this undeserved blessing would slip away from me one day.When I thought about moving to live with him, a layer of worry arose deep inside me: Would he not like my body odor?I have my own tastes and hobbies in music and TV, will he agree with it? …I’m so scared that one day he’ll put on a brand new pair of lenses and look me up and down and end up saying, “My God, you’re not the girl I thought you were. Are you?” That kind of worry, that sense of unreliability and fear never left me. I was really afraid that one day, I would be picked out by him as a female liar.But recently, my friend Ruth, who is in therapy for a broken marriage, told me that it's common for women like us to have this kind of worry. Ruth said: "At first I thought it was because I grew up in such an environment full of Chinese-style modesty. In other words, as a Chinese, I was naturally easy to accept various concepts of Taoism. But my psychotherapist disagreed. He said that I should not blame my traditional culture, my own nation. I remember reading a story about a little explorer when I was a child. He came to a desert island and first satisfied The most basic conditions for survival are not met later, and you have to look for better living conditions... People always do this, as soon as things are in their hands, they have already begun to depreciate, and they always hope for better than what they get.” After talking to Ruth, I felt a little more at ease.In all fairness, Harold and I are on par.Looking closely at all aspects of him, he is not a standard handsome man.Of course, his delicate and fair skin and Gu Chang's strong body are really charming.And I really don't have a beautiful appearance, but many of my girlfriends say that I have an exotic temperament, which is very eye-catching.They were also jealous of my high, firm breasts, which I still have today.In addition, one of my clients said that I have a sultry energy that is vivid and charming. So I thought I was perfectly worthy of Harold.I am beautiful and insightful.And, I intuitively felt early on that Harold had what it took to start his own company. Back when we were working together at Hendrick Davis, I suggested to Harold, "Harold, you've made a lot of money with this company, and you're a golden egg layer." Goose, if you start your own business now, you will take at least half of the customers from here." "Take half? That's great!" He chuckled. I also laughed with him: "At least half of it! You are so outstanding. You have your unique insights into restaurant design and development. You and I both know that this is a must for running a restaurant business." "Strive for it." He pursed his lips and used these four words, which are exactly what I hate the most.When I used to work in the bank, the bank always used these four words to motivate employees to participate in various business competitions. Even so, I said to Harold, "Harold, I'm going to 'go for it' with you, too. I mean... you might need some money to invest..." He doesn't want to hear about money, whether it's out of love, or borrowing, investment, or even a joint venture.He said he valued our relationship so much that he didn't want to taint it with money.He explained to me: "I don't need your assistance at all. Really, I think that as long as we maintain our financial independence, our mutual love will be guaranteed the most." No, I protest from the bottom of my heart.I want to say to him loudly: "Don't do this. In fact, I am not satisfied with our current method of 'no offense to the river' in money. I really want to dedicate a part of our love. , makes me feel that I am also contributing, worrying, and running around..." But these words were stuck in my throat, and nothing came out.I just stared at him blankly, and really wanted to ask, what kind of woman was it that hurt him so deeply that he accepted love in such a strange and unbelievable way today.But then, I finally heard him say what I had been looking forward to for a long time. "Actually, as long as you move here and live with me, you can help me a lot. I mean...I can have an income from this...I mean, you pay my five hundred yuan rent... ..." "That's great!" I said immediately, knowing how embarrassed and desperate he was when he asked this question. I couldn't help but be overjoyed.Although the monthly rent of my current studio is only four hundred and thirty-five yuan.But Harold's place was indeed quite nice.It was a two-bedroom apartment, facing the big bay. The rent of 500 yuan should be said to be very reasonable, no matter who you rent with, you must pay this price. That is to say, in this year, Harold and I both resigned from the job of Hendrick Davis Company. Design PR.Still, he failed to win half of Hender Kelley Davis' clients.In fact, Hender Kelley Davis had warned him that if he competed for one of their clients, they would sue him in court.In the dead of night, I would comfort him, encourage him, and give him advice.I said to him: As long as he makes an unconventional restaurant design theme with his own unique style, not to mention that Hendrick Davis has no reason to sue him. own brand. “Nowadays, people are tired of those storefronts with steel buckles and the same pizza shops. To be honest, our city is full of restaurants, even if you use a police car to go to them. You can't knock that many restaurants out. But those are just a bunch of replicas with the same design and old themes. You have to make a window of your own.Here, a new, unexpected set of ideas is launched every time.You can try to attract some Hong Kong investors who are most willing to invest dollars in American-style ingenuity. " He gave me an admiring smile: "I just love your innocence." And what I admire is the way he looks at me. I continued to toot my love to him, and that little bit of love has all melted into a concern for his career, a concern for life and death. "You...you can just eat this word and make a lot of articles about so-called themed food. For example...design a family stove, which is all about home taste; the maids wear gingham aprons, like the mother at home, lying on the On your table, you are taught not to leave food in the basin...··、 "...you can also design a specialty restaurant like this: specialize in food from literary novels, such as sandwiches in Lawrence and Sanders' assassination novels; snacks in Nora Efron's "Envy", and various other readers Foods that are familiar but have never been tasted in person. The name of the food should be unique, humorous, or auspicious to win the mouth, anyway, you have to work hard..." In fact, Harold took my advice exactly.He sorted it all out and showed it with slight changes, but I still saw my own original idea and basic style from it. Today, Livotoni & Co. employs twelve full-time employees, all of whom design themed restaurants, the "themed food" I originally suggested to Harold.Harold is the gatekeeper, the master planner, who usually signs the contract with the new client, and here he is the last link, and he makes the final call.And I am an ordinary designer in the company.Because, as Harold said, lest other employees say he was nepotism, to avoid suspicion - because we have been married for five years.We got married the year after he invested in Livotoni.In fact, even as the boss's wife, I think I have good reasons to be promoted because of my excellent work. In fact, I did a really good job.Although I don't have any formal training in this area, when I majored in Asian American culture in college, I only took theater design as an elective, and served as the stage design for the school's "Madame Butterfly" performance. At Livotoni, I was given a restaurant theme design.There is a restaurant called "Fisherman's Notes". I designed a yellow lacquered wooden boat for it, and the words "Conquest" were carved on the template of the flower.A small fishing rod is placed on each table, and the menu is hung on the fishing rod, while the scale marks and size changes are printed on the napkins.This design has been highly praised by everyone.Later, I accepted the design of an Arabor restaurant named "Tureshek". I thought it should have the effect of an Arabian bazaar. Cobra specimen. It should be said that I like my profession very much, but I have put in such energy and got such rewards.I work so hard, and it annoys me that Harold pays everybody but me. In fact, I worked as hard as he did for Livotony, but Harold was paid seven times as much as I was.He should be very clear about this, because every month my salary is a check signed by him and transferred to my name. These troubles have always been on my mind lately.At first, I was not quite aware of it myself, but I just felt uncomfortable.It wasn't until a week ago that I suddenly realized why I was restless and uneasy.Meanwhile, I'm clearing the breakfast table while Harold is pulling the car out of the garage, and we're getting ready for work.On the kitchen table, today's newspaper was spread out, and Harold's glasses were placed on it. His special coffee cup with a broken handle was placed next to the newspaper.I don't know why, but these small scenes of life and the atmosphere of home make me feel like a million arrows.This feeling of just feeling that everything in my life smelt of Harold made me see myself again when I made love to him for the first time.All I heard, saw, and felt then was Harold.He captured me so recklessly and completely, I let him find joy in me wantonly and indulgently, but he didn't care about it at all, he never asked how I felt.But until today, what have I gained? I got into the car with this scorching hot memory, and the sudden passion couldn't be calmed down for a while. "Harold, I love you!" I couldn't help stroking his hand warmly.And he just stared at the reflector intently, while reversing the car, while perfunctory: "I love you too. Uh, did you lock the door?" Again, he never asked how I feel, What he gave me was not enough. Harold was outside, rattling the car keys: "I'm going to drive down to buy some steak or something, do you want anything else?" "We're done with rice," I said, casting a cautious glance at my mother, who was looking intently at the shrub shed with her back turned to me, and then winking at Harold, indicating that Mom wanted some rice.Then, Harold started the car and rattled over the gravel path. It's just us mother and daughter at home.I started watering the flowers, but Mom stood on tiptoe, carefully examining a bill taped to the refrigerator door. "Lina" and "Harold" are written on both sides of the bill, and then the respective accounts are listed: Lina Harold Chicken, Vegetable Bread, Kale, Garage Industrial $25.35 Shampoo, beer 19.63 yuan bath to materials 5.41 yuan Maria (cleaning fee ten tips) car materials 6.57 yuan 65 yuan lighting device 87.26 yuan Groceries (depending on the invoice) Road gravel 9.99 yuan RMB 55.15 Gasoline RMB 22.00 Morning glory, canned food, dirt car smoke inspection 35.00 yuan 14.11 yuan movie and 65.00 yuan dinner Photo extension 13.81 yuan Ice cream 4.50 yuan According to this week's accounts, Harold paid more than a hundred dollars more than me, so I still owe him fifty dollars. "What is this writing?" Ma asked in Chinese. "Oh, it's nothing, just some bills we have to pay together." I tried to understate everything. But my mother just looked at me suspiciously, frowned, didn't say anything, and turned her head to look at the bill carefully, this time more carefully, I saw her checking and contemplating one by one with her fingers. I feel very embarrassed.From this bill, Ma already understood very well.Fortunately for me, she only saw half of us, and the other half: those countless negotiations, justifying and correcting concepts that are not "shared" one after another: such as mascara and shaving water, hair Sprays or razors, wig pads or Hong Kong foot powder...we had to go through countless negotiations before we finally decided that they were not shared. He insisted on paying for the wedding at the City Chapel, and I had my friend Robert come and photograph us to offset his expenses.After the wedding, we had a party in our apartment, and every friend who was invited brought champagne, so no one paid for the party.When we decided to buy this house, we made an agreement that I would only have to pay a certain percentage of the mortgage, based on the difference between my income and his.So based on the percentage I put out, I can have a substantial percentage ownership of the house.Since Harold paid a relatively large amount, he has the right to control the house and decides the style of decoration: distinctive, elegant, and multifunctional.Once he has formulated this principle, it will be finalized and cannot be changed.As for the cost of the vacation, we chose to split the cost.Others, such as birthday gifts or Christmas gifts, as well as wedding anniversary gifts, are paid by Harold. There are also some blurred boundaries. From a philosophical point of view, the concept is vague, so it is unclear.Like my birth control pills, or if we have dinner guests, they are indeed his customers, but at the same time they are my old friends from college.Also, I subscribed to food and cooking magazines, but he often finds out and reads them to relieve boredom. Also, that cat, Millag, was often the subject of our arguments.Millag is not our cat, but mine, which he gave me for my birthday last year. "What! You can't pay the bill equally for this item!" Mom asked me loudly with a horrified expression.I was taken aback, thinking that she had discovered all the mysteries about Millag.But then I discovered that her finger was in the ice cream column under Harold's name.I think Mom must still remember how I swallowed a whole box of ice cream and vomited it all while sitting on the fire escape.Since then, I have been terrified when I saw ice cream, and I would never touch it.But then I was shocked again: Harold was so utterly ignorant that I didn't touch any of the ice cream he bought back every Friday night as a rule. "Why do you want to do this!" There was a suppressed moan in Mom's voice.It was as if the bill had stung her.I was thinking about how to explain all this to her, and suddenly the words that Harold and I used to say to each other popped up: "...Only in this way can we get rid of all illusions and all the shackles that bind our feelings, so as to achieve mutual understanding. True equality and respect, love without any attempt..." However, these words were beyond my mother's understanding for the rest of my life. So I just said to my mother, "I really don't know why it's like this, it's been followed since before we got married, and it's continued until now." Harold came back; the charcoal was unloaded from the car, and I unloaded the groceries, and began to marinate the beef, cook the rice, and arrange the dinner table.Ma sat at the granite kitchen table, chewing coffee, and kept wiping the bottom of the cup with a tissue she kept in her sleeve. During dinner, Harold kept the conversation going, discussing plans for the renovation of the house: adding skylights to the roof, enlarging the terrace, laying in flower beds with tulips, cutting down the poisonous gravel tree, building a side hall, Then build a Japanese-style bathroom, and he's the one talking all the way anyway.After dinner, he cleared the dining table and piled the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. "Want something sweet?" he asked, opening the fridge. "I'm full," I said. "Lina doesn't eat ice cream," Ma went on. "Seems like that. She's always on a diet." "No, it's not a diet. She never eats ice cream, she doesn't like it." Harold smiled and looked at me bewilderedly, wishing I could explain to him what my mother meant. "Mom's right," I just said coldly, "I almost always hated ice cream!" Harold looked even more confused, as if I was speaking Chinese that he didn't understand. "I think... you are trying to lose weight?" "Didn't you see that she has become so thin now," my mother yelled from the side, "she is already as thin as a ghost, if she loses weight, she will lose her body." "Yes, God. She is really great and has perseverance." Harold seemed to be relieved now, thinking that my mother was trying to find a step for him. In the evening, I delivered clean towels to the guest room, and Ma was sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking.Harold never paid much attention to this small guest room, so the furnishings were extremely simple, a pair of beds covered with white covers, a bare floor without carpets, and the walls with sloping ceilings were bare, without any decoration at all. . The only decoration in the room is a very weird coffee table beside the bed, with an asymmetrical marble slab supported by a black lacquered wooden bracket with thin legs.As soon as Mom put the handbag on it, a cylindrical black vase on the coffee table began to shake, and the Alice flowers in the vase also trembled for a while. "Be careful, this coffee table is not stable." I said.This small tea table, which is not very well designed, is still a masterpiece of Harold's student days.I never understood why he was so proud of it. This coffee table has clumsy lines and lacks the "fluidity" and "movement" that Harold is particular about. "What's the use of this?" Mom gently shook the tea table with her hands, "There's nothing to put on it, 'the lips are dead and the teeth are cold'." I said goodnight to Mom and went downstairs where Harold was opening the window to get some air out, which he does every night. "I feel cold." I said. "what?" "Can you please close the window?" He looked at me, smiled helplessly, closed the window, sat cross-legged on the floor, and flipped through a random magazine.I sat in a daze on the sofa, let this unconscious, useless disturbance, disturbed sullenly. It didn't matter about Harold, he was right about nothing, Harold was Harold, that's all. Before I decided to take this action, I knew that I was creating a big wave, and how this uproar would end was far beyond my control.But I can't bear it any longer, not at all.我腾一下起身走到冰箱前，在哈罗德名下的冰激凌上，打了个“X”。 "What's the matter?" "What's wrong?" “没什么！我只是想，你不该把冰激凌的账上在这里。” 他耸耸肩，贼忒嘻嘻地说：“我爱吃。” “为什么你总是这样斤斤计较！”我对着他大吼着。 哈罗德放下杂志，咧咧嘴，有点生气了：“你在说什么呀？到底什么事？” “我不知道……我不知道……！反正，我讨厌斤斤计较，什么该平摊，什么不该平摊，什么得自己一个人付，什么又要加起来，再减过去，再一分为二……我讨厌，讨厌！” “可当初是你，要这只猫的。” "What did you say?" “好，算啦。假如你以为我对灭虫剂的建议不公平，那我俩平摊这份账好啦。” “那不是主要的。” “那请劳驾告诉我，什么是主要的？” 我开始哭了，我知道，哈罗德最恨我哭，这经常令他不自在，恼怒。他认为这是在要挟他，可我实在忍不住我的眼泪。因为我发现，我自己也实在不知道，与他争执的要点究竟是什么。是要求哈罗德资助点钱给我？还是要求付得再少一点，比一半再少一点？我自己是不是真的想停止这种平摊付账的方式？我们是不是还应该清算一下各自脑子里的货色？这一来，会不会让哈罗德赌气，干脆故意坚持付大部分账，反而令我更难堪了？或许当初，我们根本不该结婚？或许哈罗德根本是个坏蛋，而或许，是我使他变成这样的？ 这种攒动纷纭的思绪，纠缠得我无法摆脱。看来，它们中没一个是成立得了，而且毫无意义。我自己一个也解答不了，我完全失望了。 待我觉得可以控制住自己时，便呜咽着，迸出几句：“我只是认为，我们必须要改变一下。我们的婚姻基础，到底应该是什么………根本不是这种账单，不是谁该付给谁多少，谁又该找回他多少……” “胡说！”哈罗德话一出口，即将身于往后一倚，这工夫，他似真的在思考，然后，他以一种受伤的嗓音接着说：“嗯，我知道，我们的婚姻基础，要远比这些账单要多得多……但如果你认为不是这样的话，那末我想，你还要些什么呢？在你改变主意以前？” 我的脑子一片空白。我一点也不知道他在说些什么，我在说些什么。我们只是默默地坐在起居室里，相对无言，似乎连空气都沉重得凝滞住了。我望着窗外，远处的山峦，隐约在一片夏日的云雾中，接着，我听见头顶上有玻璃碎裂的声音，紧接着，一张椅子跌倒了。 哈罗德刚欲起身，我拦住了他：“让我去。” 楼上门敞开着，房里黑魆魆的，没有点灯。我不禁喊了一声：“妈！” 我立时发现，大理石茶几倒塌了，那只圆筒形黑花瓶给跌为两爿，花瓣散了一地。 然后我才看见窗台边的妈，那投在夜幕下的身影，寂孤又清晰。她在椅子上转过身来，脸庞依旧隐在幽寂的夜色中，因此我看不清她的表情。 “它掉下来了。”她只是简单地说了一声，毫无歉意。 “没有关系，”我说，并俯身将碎片拾起，“我知道早晚要打碎的。” “那你怎么不想个办法制止它？”妈问。 而这，竟是这么一个简单的问题。